Your Unemployed Daughter

photo credit: arthus.erea
I have a rather gruesome confession: I am a serial computer killer. Drowning seems to be my favored method of execution, followed by electrocution, and then forcible trauma via a blunt instrument (or floor). Sometimes I intoxicate my victims; sometimes not. It depends what I have in the house.

The thing is, I love computers. Especially my own. I use it daily, even hourly, except when I’m sleeping, and sometimes even then, in my dreams, or if I wake.

So what is this sickness about? Why, every other year or so, must I destroy another innocent machine? Why, oh why, must two things so essential to YUD’s life (liquid sustenance and laptops) be so absolutely terrible for one another?

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photo credit: Dark Botxy

We unemployed people are in a precarious position. On one hand, we’re free as the bees’ knees; without jobs to go to the next morning, we can party and dance on bars and drink and stay out late, sleep til 2 the next day, no problem, no worries. And some of us do.

We also desperately crave attention and conversations and people interactions, particularly if we are, say, former managing editors. And we do not get those things when we are home alone working on freelance item #7 or blogging all day. It is a vicious circle. Some might say we have become needy exhibitionists. That is the worst sort.

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